by Harlan Coben
"Sixteen."
He tried not to close his eyes. "I don't understand how that worked."
"Clyde was connected. I don't really know how, but they'd find hard-up girls f rom foster homes in Idaho."
"That's where you're from?"
She nodded. "They had contacts in other states too. Oklahoma. Cassandra was from Kansas, I think. The girls would basically be funneled to Clyde's place. He'd g ive them fake IDs and put them to work. It wasn't difficult. We both know that n obody really cares about the poor, but little children are, at least, s ympathetic. We were just sullen teenagers. We had nobody."
Matt said, "Okay, go on."
"Clyde had this girlfriend named Emma Lemay. Emma was sort of a mother figure to a ll the girls. I know how that sounds, but when you consider what we'd had in t he past, she almost made you believe it. Clyde used to beat the hell out of h er. He'd just walk by, you'd see Emma flinch. I didn't realize it then, but t hat victimization . . . it made us relate, I guess. Kimmy and I liked her. We a ll talked about one day getting out-- that's all we ever talked about. I told h er and Kimmy about meeting you. About what that night meant to me. They l istened. We all knew it would never happen, but they listened anyway."
There was a sound from outside of the room. A tiny cry. Olivia turned toward it.
"That's just Ethan," Matt said.
"Does he do that a lot?"
"Yes."
They waited. The house fell silent again.
"One day I was feeling sick," Olivia said. Her voice had again moved into a d istant monotone. "It's not like they give you nights off, but I was so nauseous I could barely stand, and, well, girls throwing up on stage didn't do much for b usiness. Since Clyde and Emma weren't around, I checked with the guy at the d oor. He said I could leave. So I walked back to the Pen-- that's what we called t he trailer area. It was around three in the afternoon. The sun was still s trong. I could almost feel my skin being baked."
Olivia smiled wistfully then. "You know what's odd? Well, I mean, the whole t hing is odd, but you know what just struck me?"
"What?"
"The degrees. Not the temperature degrees. But the degrees that change e verything. The little ifs that become the big ones. You know about those better t han anyone. If you had just driven straight back to Bowdoin. If Duff hadn't s pilled the beer. You know."
"I do."
"It's the same thing here. If I hadn't been sick. If I had just danced like I d id every night. Except in my case, well, I guess different people would say d ifferent things. But I'd say my ifs saved my life."
She was standing by the door. She eyed the knob as if she wanted to flee.
Matt said, "What happened when you got back to the Pen?"
"The place was empty," Olivia said. "Most of the girls were already at the club o r in town. We usually finished around three in the morning and slept to noon.
The Pen was so depressing, we got the hell out of there as soon as we could. So w hen I came back, it was silent. I opened the door to my trailer and the first t hing I saw was blood on the floor."
He watched closely now. Olivia's breathing had deepened, but her face was s mooth, untroubled.
"I called out. That was stupid, I guess. I probably should have just started s creaming and ran, I don't know. Another if, right? Then I looked around. The t railers had two rooms, but they're set up backwards, so you first walk into the b edroom where the three of us slept. I had the lower bunk. Kimmy's was on the t op. Cassandra, the new girl, her bed was against the far wall. Kimmy was neat a s a pin. She was always getting on us about not cleaning up. Our lives were d umps, she'd say, but that didn't mean we had to live in one.
"Anyway, the place was totally trashed. The drawers had all been dumped out, c lothes everywhere. And there, near Cassandra's bed, where the blood trailed o ff, I could see two legs on the floor. I ran over and I just pulled up short."
Olivia looked him straight in the eye. "Cassandra was dead. I didn't need to f eel for a pulse. Her body was on its side, almost in a fetal position. Both e yes were open, staring at that wall. Her face was purple and swollen. There w ere cigarette burns on her arms. Her hands were still hog-tied with duct tape b ehind her back. You have to remember, Matt. I was eighteen years old. I may h ave felt older or looked older. I may have had too much life experience. But t hink about that. I'm standing there looking at a dead body. I was frozen. I c ouldn't move. Even when I heard the sounds coming from the other room, even w hen I heard Emma scream out, 'Clyde, don't!' "
She stopped, closed her eyes, let loose a deep breath.
"I turned just in time to see a fist flying at my face. There was no time to r eact. Clyde didn't pull the punch at all. His knuckles landed flush on my nose.
I actually heard the crack more than I felt it. My head snapped back. I fell b ack and landed on top of Cassandra-- that was probably the worst part of all.
Landing on her dead body. Her skin was all clammy. I tried to crawl off her.
Blood was flowing down into my mouth."
Olivia paused, swallowing air, trying to catch her breath. Matt had never felt m ore incompetent in his life. He did not move, did not say anything. He just let h er gather herself.
"Clyde rushed over and looked down on me. His face . . . I mean, he usually had t his smirk. I'd seen him give Emma Lemay the backside of his hand lots of times.
I know this sounds foreign to you. Why didn't we act? Why didn't we do s omething? But his beatings weren't unusual to us. They were normal. You have to u nderstand that. This was all any of us knew."
Matt nodded, which felt totally inadequate, but he understood this thinking.
Prisons were filled with this sort of rationale-- it wasn't so much that you did s omething awful as that the awful was simply the norm.
"Anyway," Olivia went on, "the smirk was gone. If you think rattlesnakes are m ean, you never met Clyde Rangor. But now, standing over me, he looked t errified. He was breathing hard. There was blood on his shirt. Behind him-- and t his is a sight I'll never forget-- Emma just stood with her head down. Here I w as, bleeding and hurt, and I was looking past the psycho with the clenched f ists at his other victim. His real victim, I guess.
" 'Where's the tape?' Clyde asked me. I had no idea what he meant. He stomped d own hard on my foot. I howled in pain. Then Clyde shouted, 'You playing games w ith me, bitch? Where is it?'
"I tried to scramble back, but I bumped up into the corner. Clyde kicked Cassandra's body out of the way and followed. I was trapped. I could hear Emma's v oice in the distance, meek as a lamb, 'Don't, Clyde. Please.' With his eyes s till on me, Clyde reeled on her. He had the full weight of his body in the b low. The back of his hand split Emma's cheek wide open. She tumbled back and o ut of sight. But it was enough for me. The distraction gave me the chance to a ct. I lashed out with my foot and managed to kick the spot right below his k nee. Clyde's leg buckled. I got to my feet and rolled over the bed. See, I had a destination in mind. Kimmy kept a gun in the room. I didn't like it, but if y ou think I had it tough, Kimmy had it worse. So she was always armed. She had t wo guns. She kept this mini-revolver, a twenty-two in her boot. Even onstage.
And Kimmy had another gun under her mattress."
Olivia stopped and smiled at him.
"What?" Matt said.
"Like you."
"What do you mean?"
"You don't think I know about your gun?"
He had forgotten all about it. He checked his pants. They'd taken them off him i n the hospital. Olivia calmly opened her purse. "Here," she said.
She handed him the gun.
"I didn't want the police to find it and trace it back to you."
"Thanks," he said stupidly. He looked at the gun, tucked it away.
"Why do you keep it?" she asked.
"I don't know."
"I don't think Kimmy did either. But it was there. And when Clyde went down, I d ove for it. I didn't have much time. My kick hadn't incapacitated Clyde--
it'd j ust bought me a few seconds. I dug my hand under the top bunk's mattress. I h eard him shout, 'Crazy whore, I'm gonna kill you.' I had no doubt he would. I'd s een Cassandra. I'd seen his face. If he caught me, if I didn't get the gun, I w as dead."
Olivia was looking off now, her hand raised as though she were back in that t railer, digging for that gun. "My hand was under the mattress. I could almost f eel his breath on my neck. But I still couldn't find the gun. Clyde grabbed my h air. He was just starting to pull when my fingers felt the metal. I gripped for a ll I was worth as he tugged me back. The gun came with me. Clyde saw it. I d idn't have a real grip on it. My thumb and forefinger were wrapped around the b utt of the gun. I tried to snake my finger around the trigger. But Clyde was on m e. He grabbed my wrist. I tried to fight him off. He was too strong. But I d idn't let go. I held on. And then he dug his thumbnail into my skin. Clyde had t hese really long, sharp fingernails. See this?"
Olivia made a fist, tilted it back so that he could see the crescent-white scar o n the underside of her wrist. Matt had noticed it before. A lifetime ago, she'd t old him it was from a fall off a horse.
"Clyde Rangor did that. He dug his fingernail in so deep that he drew blood. I d ropped the gun. He still had me by the hair. He flung me onto the bed and j umped on top of me. He grabbed me by the neck and began to squeeze. He was c rying now. That's what I remember. Clyde was squeezing the life out of me and h e was crying. Not because he cared or anything like that. He was scared. He was c hoking me and I could hear him pleading, 'Just tell me where it is. Just tell m e . . . ' "
Olivia gently put her own hand up to her throat now. "I struggled. I kicked, I f lailed, but I could feel the power draining out of me. There was nothing behind m y blows anymore. I could feel his thumb pushing down on my throat. I was dying.
And then I heard the gun go off."
Her hand dropped to the side. The antique clock in the dining room, a wedding g ift to Bernie and Marsha, started to chime. Olivia waited, let it finish p laying.
"The gun wasn't loud. It was more like the crack of a bat. I guess that's b ecause it was a twenty-two, I don't know. For a second, Clyde's grip somehow t ightened. His face looked more surprised than pained. He let go of me. I s tarted gagging, choking. I rolled to the side, gasping for air. Emma Lemay was s tanding behind him. She pointed the gun at him and it was like all those years o f abuse, all those beatings, they just boiled over. She didn't cower. She d idn't look down. Clyde spun toward her, enraged, and she fired again, right in h is face.
"Then Emma pulled the trigger one more time and Clyde Rangor was dead."
Chapter 38
MOTIVE.
Loren now had motive. If the video was any indication, Charles Talley, a scumbag b y anyone's calculations, had not only slept with Matt Hunter's wife-- Loren was b etting that it was Olivia Hunter in that video with the blonde wig-- but he'd g one through the trouble of sending the pictures to Matt.
Mocking him.
Pissing him off.
Calling him out, if you will.
It added up. It made perfect sense.
Except too many things in this case made perfect sense at first. And then, after a few minutes, they didn't anymore. Like Max Darrow being rolled by a p rostitute. Like the murder of Charles Talley looking like a common j ealous-husband scenario when, if that indeed was the case, how do you explain t he connection to Emma Lemay and the Nevada FBI and all the rest of the stuff s he'd learned at Joan Thurston's office?
Her cell phone trilled. The number was blocked.
"Hello?"
"So what's up with this APB on Hunter?"
It was Lance Banner.
"Do you ever sleep?" she asked.
"Not in the summer. I prefer winter hibernation. Like a bear. So what's up?"
"We're looking for him."
"Stop with all specifics, Loren. I mean, no, really, I can't handle all that d etail."
"It's a long story, Lance, and I've had a long night."
"The APB was mainly on the Newark wire."
"So?"
"So has anyone checked out Hunter's sister-in-law's?"
"I don't think so."
"I live right down the block," Lance Banner said. "Consider me on the way."
Chapter 39
NEITHER MATT NOR OLIVIA MOVED. The story had drained her. He could see that. He a lmost made a move to come closer, but she put up her hand.
"I saw an old picture of Emma Lemay once," Olivia began. "She was so beautiful.
She was smart too. If anyone had the wiles to get out of this life, it was Emma.
But you see, no one does. I was eighteen, Matt. And I already felt like my life w as over. So there we were, me retching, Emma still holding the gun. She stared d own at Clyde for a long time and simply waited for me to catch my breath. It t ook a few minutes. Then she turns to me, all clear-eyed, and says, 'We need to h ide his body.'
"I remember shaking my head. I told her I didn't want any part of that. She d idn't get upset or raise her voice. It was so strange. She looked so . . . s erene."
Matt said, "She'd just slain her abuser."
"That was part of it, sure."
"But?"
"It was almost as if she'd been waiting for this moment. Like she knew it would o ne day happen. I said we should call the police. Emma shook her head, calm, in c ontrol. The gun was still in her hand. She didn't point it at me. 'We could t ell them the truth,' I said. 'That it was self-defense. We'll show them the b ruises on my neck. Hell, we'll show them Cassandra.' "
Matt shifted in his seat. Olivia saw it and smiled.
"I know," she said. "The irony isn't lost on me. Self-defense. Like you claimed.
We were both, I guess, at that same fork in the road. Maybe you didn't have a c hoice, what with all those people around. But even if you did, you came from a d ifferent world. You trusted the police. You thought that truth would win out.
But we knew better. Emma had shot Clyde three times, once in the back, twice in t he face. No one would buy self-defense. And even if they did, Clyde made big m oney for his mobbed-up cousin. He'd never let us live."
"So what did you do?" he asked.
"I was confused, I guess. But Emma kept explaining the predicament. We had no c hoice. Not really. And that was when she hit me with her best argument."
"What?"
"Emma said, 'What if it all goes well?' "
"What if what all goes well?" Matt asked.
"What if the police believe us and Clyde's cousin leaves us alone?"
She stopped, smiled.
"I don't get it," Matt said.
"Where would we be? Emma and me. Where would we be if it all worked out?"
Matt saw it now. "You'd be where you were."
"Right. This was our chance, Matt. Clyde had a hundred thousand dollars hidden a t the house. Emma said we'd take it. We'd split up and run. We'd start new.
Emma already had a destination in mind. She'd been planning on leaving for y ears, but she never had the courage. Neither did I. Neither did any of us."
"But now you had to."
Olivia nodded. "She said that if we hid Clyde, they'd figure the two of them ran o ff together. They'd be looking for a couple. Or they'd think they were both k illed and buried together. But she needed my help. I said, 'What about me?
Clyde's friends know what I look like. They'll hunt me down. And how do we e xplain Cassandra being dead?'
"But Emma already had that covered. She said, 'Give me your wallet.' I dug into m y pocket and pulled it out. She took out my ID-- back in those days, Nevada d idn't require you to have pictures on the ID-- and she jammed it into Cassandra's pocket. 'When is Kimmy coming back?' she asked me. In three days, I t old her. Plenty of time, she said. Then she said, 'Listen to me. Neither you n or Cassandra has any real family. Cassandra's mother threw her out years ago.
They don't talk.'
"I said, 'I don't understand.'
" 'I've been thinking about
this for years,' Emma said. 'Whenever he beat me.
Whenever he choked me until I passed out. Whenever he said he was sorry and p romised that it would never happen again and that he loved me. Whenever he told m e he'd hunt me down and kill me if I ever left. What . . . what if I killed Clyde and buried him and just took the money and ran someplace I knew was safe?
What if I made amends, you know, for what I'd done to you girls? You have those f antasies, don't you, Candi? About running away?' "
Matt said, "And you did."
Olivia held up her index finger. "With one difference. I said before that my l ife already felt over. I disappeared in my books. I tried to keep upbeat. I i magined something different. Because I had something to hold on to. Look, I d on't want to make too much of that night in Vegas. But I thought about it, Matt. I thought about the way you made me feel. I thought about the world you l ived in. I remember everything you said-- about your family, about where you g rew up, about your friends and your school. And what you didn't know, what you s till don't understand, is that you were describing a place I couldn't let m yself imagine."
Matt said nothing.
"After you left that night, I can't tell you how many times I thought of trying t o find you."
"Why didn't you?"
She shook her head. "You of all people should understand shackles."
He nodded, afraid to answer.
"Didn't matter anymore," Olivia said. "It was too late for any of that now. Even w ith shackles, like you said, we had to act. So we came up with a plan. It was s imple, really. First, we rolled Clyde's body up in a blanket and dumped it in t he back of the car. We padlocked the Pen. Emma knew a place. Clyde had dumped a t least two bodies there, she said. Out in the desert. We buried him in a s hallow grave, way out in this no-man's-land. Then Emma called the club. She m ade sure all the girls were made to work overtime, so that none of them would b e able to go back to the Pen.
"We stopped at her place to shower. I stepped under the warm water and thought, I don't know, I thought it would be weird, showering off the blood, like s omething out of Macbeth."